When love turns away, now, I don't follow it. I sit and suffer, unprotesting, until I feel the tread of another step.

As the blackness of the night recedes so does the nadir of yesterday. The child I am forgets so quickly.

Not just part of us becomes a teacher. It engages the whole self - the woman or man, wife or husband, mother or father, the lover, scholar or artist in you as well as the teacher earning money.

What can be heavier than wealth than freedom?

I've got to relearn what I was supposed to have learned.

How much of my true self I camouflage and choke in order to commend myself to him, denying the fullness of me. How often have I paraded sweetness and interest when I felt otherwise; pretended to take careful leave of him on many an occasion when I would rather have walked right out. How I've toned myself down, diluted myself to maintain his approval.

Being always overavid, I demand from those I love a love equal to mine, which, being balanced people, they cannot supply.